What "Nobody" Gets Wrong About Men, Violence and Respect — And What Dogs Might Teach Us About It

I'd like to make something very clear before we begin. I'm not defending anybody here, Far from it. I'm trying to understand the world we live in.

When I don't understand something, I feel a need to learn about it.

I've been thinking about masculinity recently.

Not in the usual internet sense.

Not “men are terrible.”

Not “men are under attack.”

Something considerably more complicated.

It started with a film.

More specifically, Hutch Mansell.

If you've seen "Nobody", you'll know the character.

At the beginning of the film, Hutch is almost aggressively ordinary.

He's a mild-mannered family man. He goes to work. He comes home. He tries to provide for his family. He's quiet, unassuming and largely invisible.

And nobody seems to respect him very much.

His family don't particularly admire him. His son seems disappointed in him. His marriage is struggling. His brother-in-law looks down on him.

Hutch has become the sort of man nobody really notices.

I think that probably rings true for a surprisingly large percentage of the films audience.

Then circumstances force him back into his old life.

And we discover that the boring suburban dad isn't boring at all.

He's extremely capable of violence.

And once that part of him comes back out, something fascinating happens.

Hutch becomes confident.

He becomes competent.

People become wary of him.

His family sees him differently.

His wife sees him differently.

His son sees him differently.

The man who was previously invisible suddenly matters.

The message isn't necessarily:

"Violence is good."

It's much more subtle than that.

It's:

"A man who is capable of violence is worthy of respect."

And once I started thinking about it, I realised how often we see variations of this story.

The ordinary man who is overlooked until he reveals what he's capable of.

The bullied man who finally hits back.

The husband whose family doesn't appreciate him until he becomes dangerous.

The quiet man who discovers his “inner beast”.

The protagonist who is mocked, humiliated or dismissed before eventually demonstrating that everyone should have been afraid of him all along.

John Wick.

Taken.

Rambo.

Different films. Different characters. Different levels of ridiculousness.

But often the same emotional journey.

Humiliation.

Transformation.

Power.

Respect.

And even superheroes sometimes play with a variation of it.

Clark Kent is mild, awkward and deliberately non-threatening.

Superman is extraordinarily powerful.

When Superman arrives, people pay attention.

Obviously, Superman isn't a straightforward example of violent masculinity. Quite the opposite in many versions of the character. One of the things that makes Superman admirable is that he possesses enormous power but chooses restraint.

But the contrast is still interesting.

Clark is overlooked.

Superman commands attention.

Power changes how people perceive him.

And that got me wondering:

What if the important part of these stories isn't actually the violence?

What if it's the respect?

---

The dangerous equation

There seems to be a recurring cultural equation:

Weakness = humiliation.

Strength = respect.

Being unable to defend yourself = failure.

Being capable of overwhelming someone = status.

And perhaps that's more important than the violence itself.

Because if you believe that being respected requires being powerful, then being made to feel powerless becomes much more than an unpleasant experience.

It becomes a threat to your identity.

And that's where the psychology gets interesting.

---

The psychology of being “a real man”

Researchers have developed the concept of precarious manhood—the idea that, culturally, manhood is often treated as something that has to be demonstrated and maintained.

You don't simply become a man.

You have to prove that you're strong enough, successful enough, competent enough, independent enough, respected enough.

And when that identity feels threatened, some men can respond aggressively.

There's another related concept called masculine discrepancy stress.

Imagine having a very strong internal picture of what a “real man” is supposed to be.

Strong.

Successful.

Confident.

Physically capable.

Respected.

A provider.

A protector.

Emotionally controlled.

Never frightened.

Never humiliated.

Never weak.

Now imagine your actual life doesn't match that picture.

You're not earning enough.

Your relationship has broken down.

You're struggling financially.

You're lonely.

You're not where you thought you'd be by this age.

You don't feel respected.

You don't feel successful.

You don't feel like the man you think you're supposed to be.

That gap can hurt.

Research suggests that men experiencing this kind of masculine discrepancy stress can experience greater anger and are more likely to report aggressive behaviour.

That does not mean masculinity causes violence.

It doesn't mean an insecure man is destined to become violent.

It means something more interesting:

When somebody's identity depends heavily upon being strong and respected, feeling weak or humiliated can become psychologically threatening.

And suddenly Hutch's story looks rather different.

He isn't simply rediscovering violence.

He's recovering a sense of status and identity.

He goes from:

I'm nobody.

to:

You should have seen me coming.

And the audience gets to enjoy that transformation.

That's the fantasy.

---

But here's the uncomfortable part

Men aren't simply the perpetrators of violence.

They're overwhelmingly its victims too.

According to the latest ONS figures, in England and Wales there were 366 male homicide victims compared with 155 female victims in the year ending March 2025.

Around 70% of homicide victims were male.

The nature of that violence is different too. Male victims are considerably more likely to have been killed by acquaintances or strangers, while female victims are disproportionately killed by partners, ex-partners or family members.

Those differences matter.

Violence against women and violence against men aren't interchangeable problems.

But the male figures should make us ask an uncomfortable question:

Why are men so disproportionately exposed to serious violence?

Could some of the cultural expectations surrounding masculinity be part of the answer?

Not because men are naturally violent.

Not because men are incapable of controlling themselves.

And certainly not because watching an action film turns somebody into a murderer.

But if we repeatedly teach boys and men that backing down is weakness, that respect has to be earned through dominance and that humiliation must be answered, we may be giving some people a very unhealthy script for dealing with conflict.

And then there is another statistic that is even harder to ignore.

Violence Isn't a Competition

There is another uncomfortable complication here.

When we start talking about violence and men, it is very easy for the conversation to turn into a competition.

Men are victims too.

Yes.

Women experience disproportionate levels of certain kinds of violence.

Also yes.

Those two statements aren't contradictory.

In fact, I think we sometimes make the conversation worse by feeling that we have to choose one.

Men make up the majority of homicide victims overall. In England and Wales, 366 homicide victims were male in the year ending March 2025, compared with 155 female victims.

But look at domestic homicide and the picture changes.

Of the 111 domestic homicide victims that year, 75 were women and 36 were men. And when we look specifically at adult homicide victims, women are considerably more likely than men to have been killed by a partner or ex-partner.

That distinction matters.

Because violence isn't just about counting bodies.

It matters who is doing it.

It matters who the victim knows.

It matters where it happens.

It matters whether the violence was a single confrontation between strangers, or part of a pattern of intimidation, control and abuse within a relationship.

A man being attacked by a stranger outside a pub and a woman being subjected to years of violence and coercive control by a partner are both victims of violence.

But they are not necessarily experiencing the same thing.

Acknowledging one doesn't diminish the other.

And I think this is where the conversation about masculinity becomes particularly interesting.

Because if we've spent our entire lives being told that a man should be strong, independent, capable and able to look after himself, what happens when someone hurts him?

What happens when the person hurting him is his partner?

What happens when he's frightened?

What happens when he needs help?

What happens when admitting "I'm being abused" feels, somehow, like admitting "I'm not much of a man"?

Maybe that's part of the problem.

Not that men are inherently violent.

Not that women are inherently vulnerable.

But that we've built some fairly unhealthy ideas about what strength is supposed to look like.

And perhaps one of the most damaging ideas of all is that being vulnerable means being weak.

Because if you can't admit that you're struggling, you can't ask for help.

And if you can't ask for help, you can end up carrying an enormous amount of pain completely alone.

Which brings me to something else that I find difficult to ignore.

---

Men are dying too

In 2024, there were 6,190 registered suicides in England and Wales.

The suicide rate for men was 17.6 deaths per 100,000, compared with 5.7 per 100,000 for women.

Roughly three times the rate.

That isn't proof that masculinity causes suicide.

Suicide is enormously complicated, and reducing it to “men don't talk about their feelings” is both lazy and inadequate.

But it does make me wonder about the cultural messages men receive.

Be strong.

Man up.

Sort yourself out.

Don't complain.

Don't be a burden.

Don't show weakness.

Deal with your own problems.

Those messages can sound harmless.

Sometimes they're even well intentioned.

But what happens to a man who genuinely can't cope?

What happens when the person whose identity depends upon being the strong one suddenly needs help?

If asking for help has been associated with weakness, admitting that you're struggling isn't simply admitting that you're struggling.

It can feel like admitting:

I'm not the man I'm supposed to be.

And perhaps that's one of the darker sides of the same cultural story.

The fictional man discovers himself by becoming dangerous.

The real man who is struggling may feel that he has to hide the parts of himself that are frightened, vulnerable or hurting.

One fantasy says:

Become harder.

Real life sometimes requires:

Let somebody help you.

---

Thinking about women

This is where the argument becomes uncomfortable in a different way.

I've noticed an increasing number of women online talking about being harassed.

Female dog walkers.

Female martial artists.

Women walking alone.

Women simply trying to go about their lives.

I don't know whether harassment itself has increased to the extent that social media sometimes makes it appear.

Algorithms have a remarkable ability to show you twenty versions of the same problem and make it feel as though the world has suddenly changed.

But the underlying problem certainly exists.

Women experience harassment at significant rates.

And one thing that particularly interests me is the role of **social cues**.

Because sometimes the issue isn't that somebody hasn't communicated.

It's that somebody hasn't listened.

A woman moves away.

The man follows.

She gives short answers.

He continues.

She turns her body away.

He continues.

She avoids eye contact.

He continues.

She tries to leave.

He continues.

She finally says:

“Leave me alone.”

And then somebody asks:

“Why didn't she just say no?”

But perhaps she did.

Maybe she said it five different ways before she finally used words.

And that got me thinking about something else I've noticed.

---

The internet's favourite martial art: proving you could beat a woman

There's another thing I've noticed whenever female martial artists put videos of themselves online.

It doesn't seem to matter whether she's demonstrating technique, competing, teaching, sparring or simply showing what she's capable of.

Within about five minutes, some random bloke appears in the comments to announce that he could beat her.

Not train with her.

Not learn from her.

Not even offer a useful observation about the technique.

Apparently he could "beat her".

Apparently this is something worth announcing to several thousand strangers on the internet.

I've known quite a few female martial artists over the years.

Trust me.

There are women I've trained alongside who could probably spread me across the floor like jam.

I have absolutely no shame in admitting it.

Because if you've spent any meaningful amount of time around martial arts, you eventually learn something rather important:

You don't actually need to be the best fighter in the room.

You need to know where you stand.

There will always be somebody faster than you.

Stronger than you.

More experienced than you.

More technically skilled than you.

And sometimes that person will be a woman.

That's not an insult to your masculinity.

It's just physics, training and experience.

Yet there seems to be something about seeing a woman who is physically capable that triggers a very particular response in some men.

“I could beat her.”

Why?

What exactly is being proved?

And, perhaps more importantly, to whom?

Because if you're watching a female martial artist demonstrate something and your immediate reaction is to imagine how you would defeat her, you're not really discussing martial arts anymore.

You're talking about status.

You're establishing a hierarchy.

I'm stronger than you.

I could dominate you.

Therefore I'm the one who deserves respect.

And suddenly we're back to that same equation.

Weakness equals humiliation.

Strength equals status.

Being confronted with somebody else's competence creates a need to establish superiority.

And that's interesting because the people who actually spend years learning to fight often become much less interested in telling strangers how easily they could beat them.

Because competence tends to remove some of the insecurity.

You know what you can do.

You also know what you can't.

You know that fighting hurts.

You know that things can go wrong.

You know that the person you're looking at might have ten years of experience you know nothing about.

And you know that there's absolutely nothing impressive about picking a fight with somebody just because your ego needs feeding.

---

What martial arts actually teaches

This is where the whole thing becomes a rather strange contradiction.

Because learning to fight properly can teach you almost the opposite lesson to the one we're sometimes sold.

The more you understand violence, the less attractive it tends to become.

Real fights aren't choreographed.

People don't politely take turns.

You can slip.

You can misjudge somebody.

There might be another person you didn't see.

Someone could have a weapon.

Someone could fall badly.

A fight that started because somebody said something stupid can end with somebody dead, paralysed or in prison.

Real violence is messy.

It is unpredictable.

And it has consequences.

Which is why one of the most valuable things martial arts can teach isn't:

“I can beat you.”

It's:

“I don't need to prove that I can.”

There will always be people better than you.

Sometimes considerably better.

And if you're secure enough in what you've learned, you don't need to turn every encounter into a competition.

You don't need to win every argument.

You don't need to demonstrate that you're tougher.

You don't need to tell strangers on the internet that you could beat up a woman you've never met.

You can simply get on with your life.

They don't necessarily need to tell you they're dangerous.

They've done the training.

They know.

---

I started thinking about dogs

This is where my brain took a pridictable detour.

Because I've spent an awful lot of time teaching people to read dogs.

And dogs have something surprisingly important to teach us about all of this.

---

Don't wait for the bite

Anyone who spends enough time around dogs learns that communication doesn't begin with aggression.

A dog may turn its head away.

Move away.

Freeze.

Become tense.

Avoid eye contact.

Lower its body.

Give a tiny warning.

Growl.

Create distance.

These aren't random behaviours.

They're communication.

The dog is saying:

“I'm uncomfortable.”

“Please give me space.”

“I don't want this interaction.”

And if those signals are repeatedly ignored, eventually the dog may escalate.

Then somebody says:

“He bit without warning.”

And an experienced dog person thinks:

No. You missed the warnings.

The bite may have been the final part of a conversation that had been going on for quite some time.

---

Socially literate dogs

I've noticed this particularly with some overseas rescue dogs.

I'm deliberately saying "some", because I'm not going to pretend that every foreign rescue dog possesses some magical understanding of canine etiquette.

Dogs are individuals.

Their genetics are different.

Their experiences are different.

Their early socialisation is different.

Their environments are different.

But some rescue dogs I've encountered seem extraordinarily sensitive to the body language of both other dogs and people.

They notice tiny changes.

They give space.

They communicate clearly.

They seem to understand when another dog has had enough.

And occasionally they encounter a dog that simply doesn't understand those signals.

One dog says:

“That's enough.”

The other keeps coming.

“Seriously, mate. Back off.”

Still coming.

“I'm really uncomfortable now.”

Still coming.

Eventually: SNAP.

And suddenly everyone wants to know why the rescue dog was aggressive.

Perhaps the better question is:

**How long had that dog been trying not to fight?

Now, I'm not claiming that overseas rescue dogs are universally more socially intelligent than British dogs.

That would be nonsense.

I'm talking about an observation that has made me curious about something much bigger:

Social literacy.

Because some individuals—dogs and humans—seem remarkably good at reading the signals being given to them.

Others seem to require a person or animal to become extremely explicit before they understand what is happening.

And that's when things can go wrong.

---

When communication becomes a contest

A socially competent dog doesn't necessarily interpret another dog's desire for space as an insult.

It doesn't think:

“That dog doesn't want to play. How dare it?”**

It receives information.

Not interested.

Too close.

Please back off.

And it adjusts.

Humans are capable of doing exactly the same thing.

Someone doesn't want to talk.

Information.

Someone doesn't want to be touched.

Information.

Someone doesn't want your attention.

Information.

Someone doesn't want to go home with you.

Information.

Someone says no.

Information.

But what happens if you've been taught to interpret rejection as humiliation?

What happens if you've been taught that backing down means losing?

What happens if you've been taught that another person's boundary is actually a challenge to your status?

Suddenly the interaction changes.

A rejection isn't information anymore.

It's disrespect.

A boundary isn't a boundary.

It's a challenge.

Walking away isn't self-control.

It's losing.

And now we're back where we started.

With Hutch.

---

Perhaps Hutch isn't the problem.

Perhaps the problem is the lesson we take from him.

The idea that when the world makes you feel small, the answer is to become more dangerous.

That when people don't respect you, you need to demonstrate why they should.

That strength means dominance.

That weakness means humiliation.

That vulnerability is failure.

That backing down means losing.

It's an extraordinarily powerful story.

And, in fiction, it's incredibly satisfying.

But real life isn't a film.

There is no soundtrack.

No slow-motion entrance.

No guarantee that you're the good guy.

No guarantee that you'll win.

And no guarantee that everyone will respect you afterwards.

Sometimes the bravest thing a person can do is walk away.

Sometimes the strongest thing a man can do is say:

“I'm struggling.”

Sometimes the most confident response to rejection is:

“Okay.”

Sometimes the most competent dog is the one that notices another dog's discomfort and simply gives it space.

And perhaps that's what all of this has been making me think about.

We spend an enormous amount of time teaching people about dogs.

How to stop barking.

How to prevent lunging.

How to stop biting.

But perhaps we should spend a little more time teaching people how to listen.

Because we already understand the principle when it comes to dogs:

Don't wait for the bite.

Don't wait for the growl.

Don't wait for the lunge.

Look at what the dog is telling you before it gets there.

Respect the attempt to disengage.

Respect distance.

Respect the warning.

Don't force an interaction simply because you think everything is fine.

And maybe humans deserve the same courtesy.

A woman shouldn't have to become frightened before we believe she wanted space.

A man shouldn't have to completely fall apart before we're willing to believe he's struggling.

A dog shouldn't have to bite before we acknowledge that it was uncomfortable.

And perhaps none of us should have to shout before somebody decides to listen.

Maybe the answer isn't to create men who are less strong.

Maybe it's to stop telling men that strength means domination.

Maybe strength is being able to walk away when your ego wants you to stay.

Maybe strength is being able to hear “no” without turning it into a battle.

Maybe strength is being able to admit that you're frightened.

Maybe strength is asking for help.

Maybe strength is being capable of violence and choosing restraint.

And maybe the strongest person in the room isn't the one everyone is afraid of.

Maybe it's the one who has nothing left to prove.

Because perhaps the lesson dogs have been trying to teach us all along is a surprisingly simple one:

You don't have to wait for somebody to bite before you understand that they wanted you to back off.

Sometimes they've been telling you for quite some time.

You just weren't listening.

If You Need Help

If any of this feels familiar to you, you don't have to deal with it alone.

Live Fear Free — Wales

📞 0808 80 10 800— 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

💬 Text: 07860 077333

Support for anyone experiencing domestic abuse or sexual violence, and for people worried about someone else.

Men's Advice Line

📞 0808 801 0327 — Monday to Friday, 10am–5pm

Confidential support specifically for male victims of domestic abuse.

England — National Domestic Abuse Helpline

📞 0808 2000 247 — free, 24 hours a day

Confidential support for people experiencing domestic abuse, and for friends or family members concerned about someone.

If you are in immediate danger: call 999. If you cannot safely speak, stay on the line and press 55 when prompted.

Asking for help isn't weakness.

It isn't failure.

And you don't have to wait until things become unbearable before you ask someone to listen.